


Stay Here

by xxrunningoutofwords



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Gen, tw: character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-04 08:24:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4130982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxrunningoutofwords/pseuds/xxrunningoutofwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A letter from the Warden, to Leliana.<br/>An explanation, and an apology.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay Here

**Author's Note:**

> Response to a #writeworld (Tumblr) prompt.

Dearest Leliana,

I know, I know. You have been trying very hard to find me, but I do not want to be found. I can't, Lel. I'm sorry, but I'm not ready yet. No. A single decade isn't nearly enough time, and maybe I'm being a coward for running from this, but it would hurt too much to see you. It is not your fault and I am not sure I can explain. I feel that I owe it to you to try, at least. You were in Denerim, but you were not privy to the things that I learned as a Grey Warden. So much is kept secret. I share some of those secrets with you now, so that you may understand.

Denerim.  
I remember it with startling clarity: the streets I expected to be emptied in preparation for the upcoming battle were full of children and merchants. There was smoke rising from chimneys and people talking in happy, excited voices. I remember thinking it all very strange: how could these people be so happy with the Darkspawn horde bearing down on them? How can they smile with the weight of the world on their shoulders? It was then that I realized the war was not real for everyone, that we alone had been trudging through the mire and muck and suffering that was the Blight. That we had seen things no one would ever believe, could never believe. It was a startling realization and it made me very somber for the remainder of that night.

I have told no one else of this, and I will trust your discretion to keep this secret to your own counsel, Lel. It’s important, and not just as a Grey Warden secret… I’m repeating myself, but hopefully only to illustrate how important it is.

We met another Warden in Denerim- I’m not sure if you would remember him or not- who took me aside after the Landsmeet, and told me why I should not have executed Teryn Loghain. He told me something that no one outside of the Wardens was allowed to know.   
He told me why the Grey Wardens were necessary to end the Blight.  
Why a Grey Warden is the only person who can.

When an Archdemon is slain, it can escape its death and continue on with its infernal purposes. It can go to a new host body, and the Blight will begin again. But if you have someone nearby, someone with the darkspawn Taint in their blood, then the archdemon would be drawn to that. They would try to occupy the Warden’s body, which would resist the blighted soul of the demon, and the effort of fighting and resistance would kill them both.

He promised to take that task on for himself, and I am ashamed to admit that I was truly relieved. I accepted his offer without a single thought for the man or the family that he would leave behind, if he had one at all: I did not even care enough to ask. My thoughts were consumed by thoughts of what I wanted and could have. I recall that he spouted something of a reason for his offer, that Alistair and I were too young yet to be lost, that we had lives to live, and he had already begun to hear the Calling which told him his days were numbered. He asked that I let him die as the hero of this Blight, and I agreed all too readily.

I wonder if perhaps that was not perhaps why the Maker saw fit to punish me the way he has. It was selfish of me.

Morrigan approached me the night before the now famous Battle of Denerim. She seemed not at all her usual self: awkward and unsure with her words, her pale cheeks a ruddy hue as she approached me with her request, or offer: I am never entirely sure which it was to her. She had for me a solution, an answer to our problem so that no Grey Warden needed to die. Her plan was nearly repulsive to me, I was reviled by the thought of what she proposed so callously. I was also hurt: her reason for joining me, her friendship, it was all for little more than…  
Forgive me. I have trouble, even now my hand shakes and splatters ink across the pages.

“If a child is conceived with the Taint in their blood, it can provide a receptacle for the soul of the Old God. It will not be killed, but changed.”

I heard abomination in this, I heard maleficarum, I heard betrayal. Here she was, the witch I had called friend, the woman I had defended to the blighting of my own honour, the woman I had murdered an old woman for… asking me to let her  
asking me to help her create a being solely for the purpose of having it possessed. Oh, she claimed it would be different, that it would be no demon, but I did not believe her. I would have nothing of her offer.

This is why she left that night, Leliana. She left because I could not stand to see her. I hurt her deeply with my words that night, I called her all manner of names that I will not again repeat.  
And she had been trying to help, I think, in her own way. She did not wish to see me-- either of us-- die and this was how she could save us from our fate.

There are enough songs and tales about the battle, spoken with a far more talented tongue than mine, that I will not rehash for you the events that took place. You know enough of them anyway; you were there. Elves, dwarves, mages, templars, humans. We all fought, we protected each other, we bled, we cried together.  
I remember seeing the Archdemon rising, I remember the fierceness that gripped me and tore away my terror. My blood raged to heed this creature’s call and to fight him with every last breath. I watched the warden fight him, leaping in a gallant show astride its neck. He held on with nothing but his legs as he hacked, and tried to end its life in the air. It was brave and it would have been poetic, it would have been sung of for centuries, his name would never have been forgotten… had he not fallen from the beast’s back.  
Had he not been shaken loose and thrown, screaming rage and defiance until his body hit the ground and broke.

He had failed.  
As he’d fallen, his eyes and caught mine, and I knew. I knew.  
I knew it was left now to me, the burden was mine to carry, and he was sorry.

I brushed tears from my eyes, and gathered my weapon. Called my friends to me, and we charged up, high, chasing the demon. Following it, with the single purpose in mind of ending its life. A Qunari warrior, an Antivan assassin, and two Grey Wardens, in a charge that would only end in death.

We fought our way to the Archdemon, and we battled long, hard. The hours blurred together until I could think of nothing more than the next attack. The next attack. The next attack. Health poultices and potions acrid on my tongue, the sharp tang lyrium in the air, blood and sweat and the revolting myriad of other scents that accompany a battle that never make it into song.

I don’t remember the strike that felled me, whether it was a claw or a wing or even the beast’s massive tail. I remember pain, confusion-- why was I no longer on my feet?-- and worried golden eyes distracted from the battle. I remember burly muscles, grey-skinned arms lifting me from the ground. It hurt. I remember Zevran following Sten across the field, shouting to the remaining fighter that everything was fine just as a darkspawn genlock sprouted a dagger from his chest. The elf pulled his blade free and continued to keep the enemy away from us while I was tended.

When I was sufficiently certain of my ability to fight again, the great warrior grunted softly. Be more careful, kadan.  
Would that I could.  
If they knew I came here to die, would they have helped me on my way? I wonder.

I fought more slowly now, hampered by exhaustion, overwhelmed by the task, hindered by lingering pain that demanded to be felt. I prayed to the Maker, let this be over soon. I got my wish. The dragon was grounded, weak-- it could barely lift its head, could barely snarl. I moved to run forward, to grab any weapon I could and slay the beast though I myself could barely walk. I knew it had to be me.

“Stay here.”  
Strong hands shoved me back.  
Split lip, bloodied from battle, gave a crooked grin.  
I watched with horror as he ran forward with his great-sword, tried to scream a warning through a mouth gone arid, and he brought the sword down…  
A blast of light erupted from the point where the blade split the creature’s skin. It flooded over the battlefield, blinded me, blinded everyone. I couldn’t hear anything over my own screaming.

When my vision cleared, he was lying in a puddle of blood. His hand was still gripping the hilt of his weapon, but his fingers had gone slack.  
You know the end of this story.

“Stay here,” was the last thing he said to me, Leliana.

I could have saved him.  
I can’t save anyone.

I’m sorry.


End file.
